


Red is the Darkest Colour

by onlyasmallfish



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Arwen is OOC, Arwen is badass, Bisexual Thranduil - Freeform, Depressed Legolas, Depression, Fluffy, I REPEAT READ WITH CAUTION - TRIGGER WARNING, M/M, Modern AU, Other, Parent Thranduil, Protective Aragorn, Self Harm, attempted suicide, read with caution, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-15 10:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyasmallfish/pseuds/onlyasmallfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A student suffering from an unknown source of severe depression is ready to give up on life. His world seemed void of colour, save for red. The never-ending ebb of the cursed colour was endless. Until the day his bubble was popped and a rainbow flooded in. The day he met the most unlikely of people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dull Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is the updated and improved version of this fic. I highly suggest that you read from chapter one and onward if you are one of the people who were waiting for updates, as each chapter has been changed. 
> 
> ATTENTION!!! TRIGGER WARNING.  
> THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION THAT CONTAINS SELF HARM, ATTEMPTED SUICIDE AND DEPRESSION. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANY OF THESE PARTICULAR TOPICS, PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.  
> 

Music blared, the anguished sounds of an electric guitar screaming from a set of battered speakers. The coarse light of a bare light bulb illuminated the room from a solitary lamp, casting a strange glare on the glossy posters taped to the walls so uncared for they seemed almost black. Piles of rumpled clothing, CD cases and garbage covered the wood floor in scattered pyramids of neglect. The room was void of life, save the figure hunched over on the messy bed.  
  
A blade clutched in one hand, Legolas stared down at the other. The black markings of a pen scribbled all the way down his wrist, spelling words of hate and pain once felt, the remnants of their hurt still lingering. His eyes ㅡa crystalline blueㅡ were bordered with black, from both makeup and lack of sleep, but were fierce and angry. Angry for what reason, however, they did not know. He clenched his teeth and gripped the handle of the knife, his knuckles turning white as the blood drained out of them and rushed to the red rimming of his eyes. The edge of the blade inched closer to his exposed wrist, reflecting the light onto the ceiling above, the silver beam dancing over his head. Scars of past hurt decorated his fair wrist, almost like a silage to remember the pain of yesterday.

With a sharp intake of breath, he squeezed his eyes shut and pierced the pale flesh with the serrated edge of his chosen device. Within moments, tiny beads of red began dotting the metal, turning into rivers as he dragged the knife across his skin. He lifted the knife and brought it down again. Again and again until his hands were stained a crude, deep, sickening red. Ten lines decorated his skin, a symbol of his pain branded below his hand. His vision began to swim, both from the tears that had accumulated and from the pain. He leaned back on one arm, the knife falling from his fingers as he attempted to support his weakening body, but his arm gave out in a quivering tumble.  
  
There was a tentative knock on the door, but Legolas made no move to open it. He lay on his mattress, staring up at his ceiling with lidded eyes, tears seeping out from under his lashes.  
  
"Legolas? Dinner is ready," his father's voice drifted towards him. He ignored it. The silence that permeated the air through the music overwhelmed him.

After waiting a few moments, Thranduil tried again. "It's wedding soup. Your favourite." Legolas did not respond. Thranduil placed his forehead on the door, feeling the vibrations of the music reverberating through the wood. It wasn’t a surprise that he was being ignored, but it still hurt him deeply.  
  
"Legolas, please." The single father could feel the sadness in his own voice. "Come downstairs."  
  
He remained there, silent, as the music seemed to shout at him. After a moment or two, he backed away from the door with a sigh and let his hand fall from the knob, turning to head back down the stairs.  
  
Legolas did not hear his father leave, nor did he hear the CD jump in its track. He did not hear the sirens wailing far off in the city, nor the barking of the neighbour's dog. He didn't hear the cat jump onto the car or the scuffle of his father return to set a tray at his door.  
  
The throbbing inside his mind and the pain oozing from his wrist silenced all else. It blocked the world from entering. It hurt so, so much, but he had no explanation. He never had an explanation. The least he could do was save his fragile, kind father from seeing him in such a way. He allowed his eyes, exhausted from silent sobbing, to close, engulfing his world in darkness as he drifted into a fretful sleep.

* * *

  
Legolas awoke the next morning with a blinding strip of light leaking through a gap in his curtains, falling on his face as the faint grind of his father's espresso machine mingled with the early morning sounds of the city. The dried blood on his arm cracked and stuck when he lifted his aching limb above his face, staring up at what he'd done. He slowly turned his head to the left, his hand remaining frozen and he tried to make out the time on his clock. The digital numbers swam into view, reading 7:43.  
  
With a groan he dragged himself into a sitting position, his arms resting on his knees and his head bowed. He ran a tired hand through his long knotted hair, leaving it in a tangled mess; not that he payed it much mind. After sitting in silence on his mattress for a while, he forced himself to stand, though he staggered slightly at the unpleasant feeling of blood rushing to his weak appendage. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, kicking aside the neglected soup tray and following his feet with his eyes as they traveled along the woodgrain of the floor. His downcast head bumped into something unexpected and soft.

"Legolas?"  
  
He looked up to see his father dressed in a crisp, white button-down with the top three unbuttoned to reveal a smooth, pale collarbone. He seemed rather surprised by Legolas' appearance and immediately lost all attention he had on the buttons of his sleeves, dropping the cuffs from his long fingers. Legolas quickly rolled down his sleeve and slapped his hand to his side, trying to hide it in the fabric of his jeans.

"You look exhausted sweetheart, are you sure you're getting enough sleep?" Thranduil's face was painted with concern as he lifted a thin hand to brush some hair out of his son's face. Legolas snapped his face away from his father's gentle touch as if it had stung him, glaring daggers at the dark hardwood floor. Thranduil's fingers recoiled and he slowly let his hand fall to his side, hurt and worried, the sadness showing on his pale face.  
  
"I'm sorry," he murmured, longing for nothing more than to pull his son close, to tell him that he loved him, to whisper sweet things of comfort. "Can...can you tell me what's wrong?"  
  
"Like you care," Legolas snarled, shoving past his father sharply and stomping into the bathroom with a slam. Thranduil stared, heartbroken, at the door, feeling the familiar emotion of guilt settle in on his stomach. He wanted to tell Legolas how much he really did care, how much he worried for his son, but he couldn't find the words. Or the courage. Sadly, he checked his watch and it alerted him that he would need to depart shortly.  
  
"Legolas...I'm going now," he said gently, pressing lightly upon the door with his fingers. "I've made you some breakfast. Please eat today, if only just a little." Legolas stared at the door with a pained expression, perched on the closed toilet seat and bringing his knees up to his chest.  
  
"I love you," his father said from behind the door, his voice a hopeless murmur. The floor creaked as Thranduil started down the stairs, the sound of the old house echoing through the silence. Legolas remained curled up on the toilet seat and listened as his father gathered up his keys and closed the front door, noises that shouldn't have been so frightfully loud. He looked out the bathroom window to see him get into his car and pull out of the driveway. Legolas noticed that he paused to look up at the house before driving away on the street below.  
  
When the car was no longer in sight, Legolas remained seated, his frame hunched and unmoving. He watched the empty street with sadness, realizing how ironically it reflected how he felt. The small sound of the neighbor's cat mewling below the bathroom window alerted him of his existence. He shook his head slightly, clearing his thoughts and lowered his legs to the floor, standing to pull the shower curtain shut. As he started to strip off his clothing, his mind wandered to his father and the heartbroken expression he'd worn on his face that was so like his own.  
  
Legolas felt absolutely terrible; he hated it when his father was hurt. It pained him to know that he had been the cause of Thranduil's misery, especially when the poor man was so kind and gentle.  
  
"Fuck me," he growled, viciously cranking the water on with a hiss. He flicked the second of the two light switches and turned on the fan, the sound of it filling the room with a dull groan of white noise. He stepped into the shower and let out a pained sigh, clenching his fist to distract himself from the sharp pain of the water hitting his wrist.  
  
The water turned a translucent red as the blood began to wash away. It pooled at his feet and swirled on the ceramic bottom of the tub on its way down the drain. He watched it flow and twist along its journey, losing himself in the sight of it.  
  
He stayed in the shower for a very long time.

* * *

  
The train was crowded, something to be expected on a Tuesday morning. Legolas hugged his satchel close to his chest, wanting to pull out his earbuds, but debating whether or not he should risk touching someone. Even though he decided not to, the debate was pointless anyway because at that moment, someone touched him.  
  
A young man, not possibly much older than Legolas himself, lost his balance as the train lurched, launching him forwards. A woman standing between him and Legolas jumped out of the way just in time to send him straight at Legolas' side. Legolas felt his body crush against the support pole as the man collided with him.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry," the man fumbled, trying to regain his balance. He failed and slid into Legolas a second time. "Sorry!" He grabbing onto the pole, his hands a few inches above Legolas'. Massaging his side the best he could with his occupied hands, Legolas found his footing and stood straight again, looking up into the young man's face.  
  
"Are you alright?" Legolas found himself saying, somewhat shyly for some reason. The man nodded, but with a look of concern on his face.  
  
"I'm fine," he replied hastily. "Are you?" Legolas gave him a tiny smile and nodded. The man seemed to relax, but not fully. This gave Legolas the time to take in his appearance.  
  
He was taller than Legolas and of a stockier build. His shoulders were broad and muscular, but he was thin and looked athletic. His hair was a dark chestnut brown and although it was clean, it was unkempt; but it made him look rough and rugged. It was accompanied by the whisperings of a beard and kind grey eyes. To someone on the street, he would have appeared as a sort of "hipster" college student, but nothing particularly special. However, Legolas could have sworn he'd seen this man before. But where?  
  
"I'm afraid I haven't quite gotten used to these trains yet," the man said nervously. Legolas was jolted from his thoughts and looked at him curiously.  
  
"Are you visiting?" Legolas asked tentatively, not sure what he should be saying. Why was he even talking anyway? What happened to the 'no-interaction' rule?

"No, actually. I'm coming to school here in the city. I only just managed to get an apartment recently so now my sister doesn't need to drive me," the man responded. He then seemed to reevaluate what he'd said and then became slightly embarrassed  
  
"Now approaching Rivendell. Rivendell station," the smooth feminine voice said over the intercom. Legolas smiled up at the man and prepared himself to leave.  
  
"I get off here." he said quietly. The man looked up at the overhead map and then back down at a tattered piece of yellow paper he pulled from his pocket.  
  
"Apparently, so do I," he said, smiling down at Legolas. Legolas was enjoying the man's company but couldn't help but feel small and awkward. The two exited the train together and stepped out onto the swarming underground platform. Legolas started walking towards the stairs and found the young man following him.  
  
"I feel really bad about bothering you, but do you think you could help me?" he asked helplessly. Legolas studied his face for a moment before taking a step towards him. When he spoke, his voice was small.

"Sure."  
  
"Thank you so much," the man said gratefully. "I'm trying to get to Imladris University?" Legolas smiled.  
  
"Easy. Just follow me," he said, turning back to the stairs, climbing them with the young man in tow.

He had been feeling frustrated and depressed on the train, the crush of people making it worse. But for some reason, ever since this strange young man had opened his mouth, all of it had melted away and for the first time since he could remember, Legolas almost felt cheerful. Glancing back down at his new company he discovered that the man had been looking up at him as well. The split second of eye contact sent a zap through Legolas' body. He snapped his head forward and felt his cheeks become strangely hot.  
  
They were immediately struck by the cool morning air as the pair stepped out onto the street. Legolas paused for a moment and cracked his neck with a stretch of his arms, purposefully blocking any possible glance he could shoot at his companion.  
  
He lowered his arms and gestured for the man to follow him. They walked along the bustling street with Legolas slightly in front, weaving in and out of people making their way to work. Soon, the university came into view across the street. Just a few blocks away from the crosswalk, Legolas stopped in front of a tiny indie coffee shop.  
  
"I'll just be a second, you can come in if you'd like," he said. The man seemed surprised but simply nodded.  
  
The tantalizing scent of coffee hit them like a bullet as they ducked into the tiny shop. It was brightly lit and quaint with rustic victorian furniture and walls painted with a peeling creamy white. The large window was bordered with lace and turquoise faux velvet; a display of fresh cupcakes, books and flowers in full view of the passing street.  
  
The young man watched Legolas quietly as he walked up to the cash, slipping his thin hand into one of the deep pockets on either side of his army jacket. A curly haired barista popped up from behind the counter at the sound of footsteps upon seeing Legolas, Hus round face bloomed into a bright smile.  
  
"The usual, Legolas?" he inquired, reaching to the side  Legolas smiled and handed him the appropriate coins.  
  
"Thank you, Sam," he said quietly.  
  
Unbeknownst to Legolas, the young man was watching him with a small smile. So his name was Legolas. The man had no idea what it meant, but it fit him perfectly; sweet, quiet and slightly mysterious.  
  
"Would your friend like anything?" Sam asked, nodding towards the brunette. Legolas first looked surprised then embarrassed at himself for not offering his companion anything. Come to think of it, he didn't even know his name.  
  
"Sorry," Legolas said, looking at him apologetically. "Would you like something?"  
  
The man pretended to be startled out of a deep thought, though he had been discreetly listening the entire time.  
  
"No, no thank you," he stuttered. Sam nodded and turned back to Legolas with a cheerful smile.  
  
"I'll get you that mocha then," he said, winking at Legolas.

There was an awkward silence between the two students as Sam began work on Legolas' beverage. The gurgle of the coffee machine seemed augmented by the tense atmosphere and when Sam put new beans into the grinder, it was almost as if someone had woken a dragon. Legolas bit at the inside of his lip, clenching and unclenching his fingers from the army-green canvas of his satchel as he struggled to keep his eyes from wandering over to his handsome companion.  
  
"Here you go; one chai mocha latte with vanilla, hold the whipped cream." Sam announced, causing Legolas to jump. He blinked rapidly as he watched Sam place the disposable cup in front of him on the counter. With a smile and a word of thanks, he made his way over to where the other sat.  
  
"Thanks for waiting," he said. The young man smiled in response and the two were soon quickly out the door.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm not really used to company," Legolas said sheepishly once they'd exited the small shop. The man came to walk next to him, nodding in reassurance.

"I know," he responded. Legolas looked at him quizzically, his hands clasped around his cup. The man caught his expression and quickly covered himself. "I-I mean I know how you feel," he fumbled. Legolas shrugged and switched his attention to his drink, taking a hesitant sip and pulling the cup away with a jolt. Still too hot.  
  
They walked in silence as the morning buzz took full swing. The sidewalk was becoming increasingly more crowded as the light of the sun rose just high enough to pierce the tops of the buildings, reflecting off the windows. Pulling his jacket tighter around himself, Legolas buried his face into the fabric folds of his scarf. His companion sided closer to him, trying to keep up and not lose sight of him. Someone shoved past them ㅡa suited man barking into a cell phoneㅡ causing the young man to trip a little over his foot and fall forwards, grabbing onto Legolas' shoulder and making the smaller man jump. When he regained his balance, his hand remained clutching Legolas' arm, unconsciously gripping tighter.  
  
"Ouch!" Legolas exclaimed quietly, touching the man's fingers lightly to alert him of the slight pain he was inflicting. The man looked down at the source of Legolas' distress.

"Sorry! I'm hurting you so much," he said in a voice laced with guilt, releasing Legolas quickly.

"It's alright." Legolas said quietly, glancing up at the clock tower of their looming school. 9:41. "Shit," he muttered; he would be probably be late for his first class. He turned back to his companion.

"Let's cross quickly, my first class starts at 9:50." The young man nodded, waited for the light to change and side by side, they marched quickly across the street.  
  
"I want to thank you," the young man said, pulling Legolas aside once they got to the opposite sidewalk.  
  
"Oh no, it's nothing," Legolas said, feeling flustered at how close the man was, he clutched his paper cup close to his chin.  
  
"No really. You took time out of your busy day just to help a clumsy idiot like me. I want to repay you somehow."  
  
"R-repay me?"

"Yes. Would you like me to buy you lunch?"  

"No, it's really notㅡ"  
  
"Please, I insist."  
  
Legolas felt his cheeks tingle with a familiar burn at the man's determined expression. He had his large hand clenched around Legolas' small slender fingers.  
  
"Lunch?" he asked, the word coming out in a gasp as he stumbled back a little. The man's face light up.

"Yeah! I know of a really great place not far from here," he said happily. Legolas let out a nervous laugh. "What time does your lunch start?"

"Um...well I have a...half day so..."

"Great! So do I! Want me to pick you up here at 1:30?"  
  
"Sure?"

The young man beamed and stepped back suddenly, letting go of Legolas' hand. He placed on hand across his middle and one behind his back and sunk into a low bow. He stuck out one arm and clasped Legolas' fingers once again, bring his hand down to his face. With a smile, he touched his lips briefly to the back of the pale hand. Legolas turned beet red and stared down with wide eyes as the young man brought his face up, painted with an adorably goofy grin.  
  
He stood and turned Legolas' hand over, pulling something from his pocket. He pressed a folded piece of paper into Legolas' palm; the one he'd read off of on the train. He gave Legolas one last nod, turned on his heel and melted into the crowd, leaving Legolas rooted to the spot clutching a coffee cup and a piece of paper, an expression of utter dumbfoundment clear on his red face.  
  
He looked down at the slip of paper the man had given him. It was a tattered sticky note folded in two with a second crease that seemed to have been folded and unfolded countless times. With clumsy fingers, Legolas unfurled the yellow scrap of paper. Scrawled hastily in ballpoint pen were two words.  
  
_"I'm Aragorn"_  



	2. A Good Day

Legolas felt his heart repeatedly smash against his ribcage; the steady pounding rhythm creating a strange sense of breathlessness in his lungs. His mind swirled with a mixture of terrified excitement, giddiness and frustration at the prospect of being late for class. On his way up the stairs of one of the many buildings on campus, he stumbled over his own foot, the toe of his brown boot catching on the back of his heel. He would have been pitched headlong onto the stone steps had he not caught himself in an excellent display of reflexes. His coffee sloshed inside the paper cup, droplets spraying out of the small opening in the lid and leaving an interesting pattern on the dreary stone. It also thoughtfully painted itself onto the fabric of his faded grey jeans. His temper rising, he cursed the step. Today was not a good day.

"Dammit," he swore, attempting to use the overly long sleeve of his jacket to wipe up the mess. Unfortunately, his gaudy and very long scarf fell forward and grazed the step, picking up dirt and spilled coffee with its many cranberry folds. Alarmed, he seized the fabric and lifted it off the ground, brushing the bottom vigorously. He then picked up his cup from where he had placed it on the ground and proceeded up the stairs, this time with a little more caution.

However, his caution was for naught. When he pulled back on the heavy wooden door, a young woman on the other side opened it suddenly, smacking the wood into his forehead. Normally, he would have been quick enough to avoid the dull thud that echoed through his skull, but today his usually subtle clumsiness was enhanced tenfold. The woman breezed past, obliviously laughing into her glittery pink cell phone at some unheard joke.

Rubbing his throbbing forehead, Legolas entered the building and started down the long hallway, passing doors open to classes preparing to begin. The scuffing of chairs, chattering of friends, rustle of papers and the squeaking of chalk on blackboards bounced off the high glass ceiling, filling the extensive hallway.

Legolas squeezed his way through the crowd until he reached the restroom. Pushing open the door, he stepped in front of the mirror. The door shut behind him as he set down his cup on the counter, leaning into the mirror to inspect his forehead for any blemishes. There was a small red mark just above his left eyebrow; not serious, but it might turn into a bruise. Satisfied with his inspection, Legolas moved back from the mirror and switched his focus to his entire reflection.

He started a little at what he saw.

His face was embossed with a lovely red shade of blush that morphed his features into looking as though he’d just engaged in vigorous athletic activity; the nature of said activity open for speculation. He raised shaky hands to his cheeks which were hot to the touch. Never had he been so red; what was going on? It couldn’t possibly have been because of that young man, Aragorn. Could it?

At the thought of him, Legolas' suspicions were deemed to be correct. He felt himself flutter in the strangest of way that was unfamiliar to him. Unfamiliar and oddly...gratifying?

The creak of the bathroom door opening snapped him back to earth. He whipped his blonde head around to see a freshman boy with a head of dark curly hair scurry around the edge of the door. Seeing Legolas' flustered state, he looked at him curiously.

"Are you okay?" he asked, stepping forward with an expression of concern blooming on his face. Legolas let out a nervous laugh and hurriedly picked up his battered satchel from under the sink where he'd dropped it.

"I-I'm fine!" he stuttered, perhaps a little too cheerfully. Trying vainly to hide behind his hair, he stumbled out the door, cursing himself under his breath.

The young man stood confused, looking at the door where Legolas had disappeared through. With a shrug, he turned and glanced at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his hair with his right hand. He placed his left hand down on the counter where it bumped something. Looking down, Frodo Baggins' eyes met with a small cardboard coffee cup, sitting abandoned and half full on the edge of the linoleum counter.

* * *

With a sigh, Legolas sank down into his seat. It was only 9:50am and he was already exhausted. A familiar sense of dread began to fill his mind and he tried desperately to stop it but, his efforts were fruitless.

Sullenly, he extracted his notebook from his satchel, opening it to a page from the last class. Next to it, he placed his pencil case and his water bottle, preparing for his long, boring morning.

* * *

Aragon couldn't tell you a single word his professors had said that morning. He sat tense in his seat, fidgeting with his mechanical pencil and glancing at the clock every few minutes. The speed at which the hands on the clock were moving was infuriating.

The people sitting near to him were starting to give him questioning looks due to his obvious restlessness. One of the students behind him leant forward and tapped his shoulder lightly causing him to jump. He turned around and found himself face to face with a folded piece of paper. Taking it in his hand, he unfolded it and sat correctly in his chair to read the brief message scrawled in red pen. 

' _Got somewhere to be, Busy Lizzie?'_

Aragorn turned around again to see who this insolent sender was. Apparently, a beefy young man with an impressively bushy red beard and an equally tricky smirk to a match. It grew wider as he gestured his head in the direction of the lined paper in Aragorn's grasp.

Grabbing his own pen, Aragorn penned a hasty response.

 _'What's it to you, Hagrid?'_   
  
He shoved it back onto the desk behind him, watching the bearded man smooth it out and scan it with his beady eyes. He snorted.

  
 A number of people turned their heads to the direction of the strange noise, the few people sitting around them looking at "Hagrid" weirdly. He cleared his throat and buried his face into the piece of paper in front of him, clearly embarrassed at the bizarre noise that had emitted from his being. Within a few seconds, the paper was back in a sniggering Aragorn's hands.   
  
' _Ha ha. You'll be on the floor soon if you don't stop that fidgeting. I’ll first-handedly tip you out of that chair.'_   
  
_'This class is taking forever.'_

_'Well, you paid for it'_   
  
_'Yeah, but I really need time to hurry up'_   
  
_'Oh?'_   
  
_'It's none of your business Hagrid'_   
  
_'I think it is Lizzie'_

Aragorn rolled his eyes. 

_'Fine'_

_'Hooray! Juicy gossip!'_

_'God no'_

_'Just tell me'_

He really wasn't letting up.

 _'I'm meeting someone later'_

_'Hooboy Lizzie's got a da-ate'_

_'Kinda yeah. Why am I telling you this?'_

_'Because I'm irresistible'_

_'You're quite resistible actually'_   
  
_'Rude'_   
  
_'Thank you'_   
  
_'NP. So is this chick cute or what'_   
  
_'Very'_

_'She the bomb-diggity?'_

_'Totally'_   
  
_'Shebang'_   
  
_'This is incredibly dumb'_   
  
_'I know isn't it great'_   


* * *

  
Legolas stared blankly at the incisions on his skin. The marks were now a dark red, almost burgundy, the skin around them pink and unhappy. The girl seated next to him glanced over, her eyes lingering for a millisecond on his arm, a flicker of concern flashing through her eyes. He noticed her and quickly rolled down his sleeve, shoving his pencil case in front of his wrist. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

"What happened to your arm?" The girl's voice was barely a whisper. Legolas sat for a moment, pondering what to say. Oddly enough, he hadn't anticipated this.

  
"My cat," he murmured back finally, looking at the girl.

She was blonde, like him, but her hair was much more of a golden colour; and it was textured in a way that the waves hugged the sides of her face prettily. She smiled with an understanding grin.

"I've got an evil cat too," she winked, returning her soft blue eyes back to the professor who was in the process of explaining theories behind the art of Frida Khalo.

Legolas looked at her for another moment or so, surprised that she had believed his lie. What was her name? Eowyn or something. He vaguely remembered having a brief conversation with her once or twice, but nothing really significant. He too returned to his work, but it was something that he could not focus on.

Instead, his mind wandered elsewhere. To a place in his mind that was a sort of forest. It wasn’t really, but he had no other way of describing it. He knew it by heart, but yet every time he was swept there, he still managed to get lost in its black branches. This was where he spent his days, not as dark as it could get but barely any light shone either. It was silent except for the dull drone of his professor, but he was miles away. The familiar, almost comforting sadness burrowed deep into his core, twisting, encircling and crushing insides, seizing his mind with its empty, hollow arms.

"Hey cat boy."

Legolas blinked a few times and realized that he was resting his forehead on his arms. He raised his head and looked around. The students were standing up and tidying their belongings, beginning to file out the door as the professor closed his computer with a click, chatting lightheartedly with a few of the other students. What? Was class over?

"Enjoy your nap?" Eowyn was smirking at him. Legolas’ eyes focused on her face and came to realize that she was the source of the previously disembodied voice.

"What?" he said stupidly, still trying to grasp the situation. Eowyn laughed and tucked her tablet into her backpack.

"You slept through most of the class," she mocked, tugging on the zipper and shaking the bag up and down a few times to get it to shut. Legolas furrowed his eyebrows and pulled away from his desk, leaning back in his chair.

"When did I fall asleep?" he asked, his eyes scanning the lecture hall at the people leaving. Eowyn shrugged and turned on her phone, glancing at the white numbers on the screen.

"About...an hour and a half ago," she said, stuffing the small thin device into her sweater pocket. With a smile, she reached out a hand, decorated with irridescent gold fingernails that flashed in the electric light. Legolas' heart nearly failed him when she grabbed his cheek.

"You should get some more sleep, cat boy," she said “You look like a Tim Burton character.” With that she slung her backpack over her shoulder, spun on the balls of her feet and flounced down the stairs. When she reached the door of the classroom, she turned and waved sweetly before grabbing the arm of another student, a tall girl with an impressive amount of blue hair and winged eyeliner so sharp you could probably cut paper with it. They exchanged a few words before bursting into laughter, the blue haired girl clutching at her stomach; then in a whirl of long golden hair and the dark green of her dress, Eowyn was gone.

An announcement rang over the PA, stating that all classes were over for the day and that, because of the half schedule, clubs and sports meeting were also cancelled. Legolas began to pack up his things, sliding his art history textbook into his bag alongside his notebook and his pencil case. As he did so, he noticed that his notebook had a tea stain on the back cover; he hoped it hadn’t bled through to the pages. Hooking his satchel onto his shoulder, he picked up his phone and his sketchbook and made to follow Eowyn’s footsteps.

He meandered about in the hallways for about twenty minutes, looking at posters and advertisements posted on the various corkboards scattered about the building. He paused at a vending machine and bought a cereal bar and a bottle of Calpis, a bizarre Japanese drink his friends had gotten him hooked on in high school. As he drank the milky liquid, he thought about his father, he thought about Eowyn and her flashing gold fingernails and he thought about his non-existent cat. Maybe he should get a cat...Eowyn might ask for pictures, girls tended to do that.

It was nearing 1:20 and Legolas found himself again in the bathroom, checking his reflection in the mirror. He was adjusting his hair when a thought occurred to him that hadn't arisen before.

Did this count as a...date? He froze.

It was a date! He'd arranged a date! Like something out of a romance movie or novel, it was so cliché that he wouldn't have been surprised if a film crew followed them to the restaurant. How stupid did he have to be to not have even thought about that before now? Now being ten minutes before his 'date' was scheduled to begin.

With one last fluff of his hair, he whisked himself out the door, feeling strangely excited. He hadn’t been on a date in years, not since high school anyway; and those dates were always done in secret, no hand-holding or hugging in public. But long gone were the days of taboo; this was the first time he’d be able to flirt freely with someone without worrying about homophobes or the police. He pushed the dark demon of his thoughts to the back of his mind to make room for this newfound light that seemed to be growing brighter with every step, making his chest feel warm. It fluttered like the wings of a baby bird that was itching to take flight, but he had to contain it.

As he neared the crosswalk where they had arranged to meet, he began looking around to see if he could spot Aragorn. His eyes came to rest upon the ruggedly handsome man leaning against the trunk of a tree, his face shadowed. At that moment, the man looked up and spotted Legolas, standing beneath a student signboard. He stood up straighter and waved openly, a wide grin on his face. Legolas bit his lip to hide his smile and raised a hesitant hand to wiggle it in the air in response. Aragorn looked down at himself and quickly straightened his striped shirt as Legolas approached, causing the smile to pull at the corners of Legolas' mouth mercilessly. Maybe today was a good day after all.

He walked forward, feeling nervous and tingly all over, as if someone had just zapped him with lightning. He bit at the inside of his lip in anticipation as Aragorn got closer, and it took all his willpower not to grin like an idiot.

“Ready to go?” Aragorn inquired once they’d reached each other, his hair falling effortlessly off his shoulders in a ridiculously handsome way. Legolas nodded eagerly and adjusted the strap of his satchel, just to have something to do with his hands. Aragorn smiled that same warm smile from before and indicated for Legolas to follow him.

“I hope you like greek food,” he said as they made their way down the street. Legolas looked up at him, allowing his stupidly giddy smile to emerge for just a moment.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “You’ve found yourself a ‘Gastronome’.”

Aragorn blinked in confusion, feeling rather dumb for not knowing what the word meant. Legolas noticed this and laughed slightly, reveling in his newfound linguistic power.

“It’s French,” he supplied. “for ‘lover of fine food’.” Aragorn grinned and nodded, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.

“Ah,” he said. “That would explain why I was under the impression that you were referring to a species of ancient marine animal. I’m hopeless with French.”

“Apparently not with paleontology!” Legolas exclaimed, astonished at where Aragorn’s initial thoughts had taken him. “What are you taking?”

“Paleontology,”  Aragorn replied, giving Legolas a knowing smile. “An English major and museum studies.” Legolas took on a thoughtful expression, considering what kind of person these facts made, and he found that he was incredibly intrigued. He was about to ask about the museum studies but Aragorn beat him to the conversation.

“What about you? I haven’t the faintest idea as to what kind of courses you might be taking,” Aragorn said.

“I’m taking mostly Art and English-related courses,” Legolas replied. “Art history, creative writing, an Art major and an English major.”

“Huh,” Aragorn mused, nodding. “You’ve certainly got a lot on your plate.”

“Not really,” Legolas shrugged. “It’s not like I’m taking anything because I have to. I enjoy every class I’m in, they’re all incredibly interesting.”

“We turn left here,” Aragorn interjected, pointing to a small winding street lined with ramshackle shops; he sidestepped to let Legolas walk first. “Sorry, go on?” he said, looking down at Legolas again. Their height difference wasn’t severe, but it was significant enough to make conversation and eye contact interesting.

“I was mostly finished anyway,” Legolas reassured before looking about him at their surroundings.

The street was cheerful and everything seemed very yellow and happy, despite it all being made of stone. Shops selling pastries and vintage clothing lined the uneven street that was sporting a quiet bustle of young couples and small families. A small park came into view as they went farther down the street, full of tall, leaning trees whose leaves were beginning to feel the touch of fall. The atmosphere was generally warm and almost Dickens-like, as if they had been transported to a storybook village. However, despite the delightful setting, now that their practical conversation had died, there was an awkward silence growing between them.

"You don't need to talk, you know."

Legolas looked up in surprise at the sudden and strange statement. His confusion must have been evident on his face because when Aragorn glanced at it, he smiled.

"You say plenty with simply your existence." His smile was warm and genuine. "So I'll do the talking."

"But...what is there to talk about?" Legolas asked, rather flustered by his comment. He’d only just met this man and already he was tugging at Legolas’ heartstrings. Aragorn looked about himself at the scenery, taking it in.

"I dunno. Everything, anything. Maybe even nothing at all." He paused for a moment and shuffled his feet along, looking upwards slightly at the surrounding city. Suddenly, he seized Legolas' arm and pointed at something, causing the fairer of the two to start sightly.

"Look at that girl over there," he urged. Legolas tried to see where he was pointing. There were about ten different girls in the park that Aragorn was gesturing towards.

"The one wearing the white dress."

  
    Squinting a little, Legolas scanned the park they were standing in front of, searching for the girl who fit Aragorn's description. His eyes came to rest upon a teenage girl wearing a floaty white dress crouching alone by a flock of pigeons. In her hand was a paper bag which she dove her hand into and extracted a handful of beige substance. Bread crumbs. She tossed it onto the ground and the already excited pigeons flew into a frenzy of wings, tails and feathers battling for the crumbs. She laughed and stood, scattering more crumbs here and there as she meandered through the soft grass.

"See how she smiles kind of sadly?" Aragorn said, lowering his hand. Legolas looked again. She did seem sort of sad.

"She looks nostalgic; remembering a past love or something dear to her heart. Or maybe she's lonely and is humming a sad song," Aragorn pondered, tilting his head slightly to the right. "I’ll bet her name is Emma and she is the middle child in a crowded family.”

“She listens to alternative rock but plays indie music on her acoustic guitar, writing songs about stars and rain mainly. Today she needed to escape the crush of her family so she came to her favourite park. The paper bag is full crushed bread crusts from whenever she eats toast; she hates crust."

Legolas stared at Aragorn in amazement, his eyes wide with awe. He was talking as if he knew this "Emma" girl. It almost seemed as though he was her and was writing a diary entry.

“Maybe you should consider enrolling in my creative writing course,” Legolas jested. “I have a feeling my professor might fall in love with you.”

“Is your prof. a woman?”

“Yes?” Legolas replied, a little perplexed.

“Then she hasn’t a chance, I’m afraid,” Aragorn chuckled. “I don’t swing that way.”

Upon understanding Aragorn’s small confession to being gay ㅡthough he’d never admit itㅡ Legolas tried to hide his tiny “yes” of victory. His gaydar had yet to fail him, and this time, he was so very thankful that it hadn’t.

They had walked a little farther and were now stepping off the crooked sidewalk as Aragorn let out a sigh and the flicker of a sad smile graced his lips.

"That girl, Emma,” he said “She loves coming here because of the trees. The old trees that tower over head make her feel safe and free." Aragorn didn't know why, but he felt completely at peace with revealing such a private thing, although cryptically, to someone who was practically a stranger. Legolas let his gaze wander back to the young girl.

She was barefoot and dancing ㅡdespite the shiver of cold breezeㅡ and the fabric of her skirt fanned out into a huge circle around her waist; her long hair twirling about her like a tawny flock of butterflies. She seemed to be singing something to herself, but they were too far away to hear.

"I think I like Emma," Legolas said softly, smiling up at Aragorn. The bearded man turned and their eyes locked for a split second, but it was enough for the familiar tingle that Legolas had felt in the train station to zing it's way up his back. "Do you think you could...introduce me to more people?"

Aragorn beamed. "It would be my pleasure."

The two walked side by side through the park, Aragorn pointing out people, trees, animals and sounds. He had an elaborate description or detailed story for each one;  all of which he explained to Legolas with gusto.   
 

"See that squirrel? The little grey one. It's all mangy and thin. He probably isn't eating very well, or perhaps he got into a fight over a mate."

"How about that tree over there? It's different from the rest...I think it's the colour of the bark. The leaves are such a lovely shade of green, almost like grass growing in the sky."

Legolas listened and observed in a trance, absorbing every word that escaped Aragorn's lips. The things he said...they were so thoughtful, so beautiful, so incredibly fascinating he felt he could listen forever. He clung to every syllable that rolled off the young man's tongue, soaking up stories, pictures, songs and sounds that would never have existed if Aragorn hadn’t come up with them. Never before had he experienced something like this; the young man didn't seem to mind his silence or his shyness, he didn't push for anything; instead he continued on. It was wonderful.

Legolas was suddenly jostled from his stupor by unconsciously brushing his fingers against Aragorn's browned hand. Aragorn's fingers recoiled, although not unkindly and his eyes met with the embarrassed blues of his companion.

"I-I'm sorry..." Legolas stuttered, balling his fingers tightly into a small fist. His cheeks were aflame and his heart was racing. What a stupid thing to do! He quickly averted his eyes, trying to hide his crimson face and his utter screw-up behind a curtain of hair. How could he have been so stupid? So unbelievably naive that he thought he could grab at the other’s hand. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Aragorn forced his eyes away and bit on the inside of his lip, his own face feeling strangely hot. He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, clenching his digits around a handful of the chestnut locks. Legolas' hushed voice let out a mortified whisper beside him.

"I'm sorry. I'll… I’ll just...go now," he choked, horrified at his actions and staring down at the ground. Once the choppy phrase met Aragon's ears, he spoke without thinking.

"No! Please don't!" Legolas looked up, astonished. "...Please don't." Aragorn repeated, this time in a much quieter tone.

They stood opposite each other, staring down at their own little patch of grass in silence for one long, agonizing minute.

Then Aragorn laughed.

It was only a tiny one, and barely audible, but it was just loud enough to squeak out. Aragorn immediately clapped his hands over his mouth in embarrassment, his hair swinging around him as Legolas’ head snapped upwards. His shimmering blue eyes stared incredulously at the young man across from him, but within mere seconds he was struggling unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter.

It only took a few moments before the two of them were bursting with laughter.

"Wha-what..." Legolas wheezed. "Are we even laughing about?"

Aragorn snorted and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with one last giggle. “You were just..." He inhaled deeply. "...so cute! I couldn’t help it!" He chuckled and shook his head at the pure ridiculousness of the situation, placing his hand on his face and letting out a small sigh. Legolas’ face was set ablaze once more, but this time he didn’t let it deter him.

"Still set for lunch?" Aragorn asked, grinning hopefully down at his blushing companion.

Legolas coughed and smiled with a nod. "Absolutely."

He straightened his back and sided up next to Aragorn. The pair tumbled away down the street merrily and for once Legolas forgot entirely about the pain, the darkness and the hurt. For once he felt entirely, purely joyful and at peace.

For once, Legolas was happy.   
  
  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The blue-haired girl isn't a Mary-Sue. I have brown hair and I'm the opposite of tall.


	3. Bad News First

  
Legolas waltzed into the kitchen and flung his satchel gracefully onto the island counter in the middle of the room. He kicked off his boots and twirled like a prima ballerina, elegantly spinning over to the fridge with his arms held aloft. He began singing quietly to himself and bent down to rifle around in the refrigerated cupboard for a few moments, intently searching something that was undecided until he saw it . With a triumphant cry, he straightened his back and held up his prize: a large container of nutella and a jar of peanut butter.

    "You seem cheerful."

    Legolas turned at the sound of his father's voice. Thranduil stood in the entrance of the kitchen, leaning against the door frame with a soft smile on his face. Legolas returned it with his own smile that seemed to radiate sunshine that lit up the kitchen. He swept a bag of bread off the top of the fridge and dropped onto the counter along with the two jars before grabbing a plate from an overhead cupboard.

    "Do I?" he asked in a sing-song voice, looking over his shoulder as he retrieved a butter knife from one of the drawers below the counter. He shut it with his hip and carried his plate and the utensil over to where his food was waiting. Plopping himself down on one of the high stools that were scattered around the island, he opened the bag of bread and dove his hand into the plastic encasement; purposefully choosing two of the middle pieces.

    Thranduil chuckled, seating himself across from Legolas and choosing a tangerine from the fruit bowl between them. Legolas was thickly spreading globs of nutella onto one of the slices of bread, getting some of the brown substance on his fingers. He set down the laden slice and licked the chocolate from his fingers, reaching forwards with his other hand to grab a banana from the fruit bowl which he then proceeded to peel and cut into thin pieces. Thranduil watched this whole process unfold in front of him as he calmly peeled his tangerine, placing the skin in a small pile beneath his hands. He was so relieved to see Legolas eating ㅡeven if it was nutellaㅡ and felt overcome with inward joy at seeing something other than cold emptiness in his son’s eyes.

    "I'm glad to see that there's some fruit in there," he teased. Legolas looked up from the piece of bread he was now decorating with generous amounts of peanut butter and snickered, rolling his eyes and waving the butter knife around slightly as Thranduil gave his son a skeptical look. At first, Legolas returned it with one of surprise but it quickly turned to an obnoxious grin.

    "Fine. But it's not like I eat nutella every day," he said, placing the peanut butter half of his sandwich on top of the nutella-banana half with a sense of finality. The two sat in silence while Legolas devoured his sandwich. After a few moments, Thranduil sighed and set down the remainder of his fruit.

    "Legolas, I have something to tell you."  
  


* * *

  
   The office was busy. Busier than usual. Thranduil leaned far back in his comfy, plush seat; cracking his back and secretly praying for a fire or something of the sort that would allow him the rest of the day off. With a groan, he pulled himself forwards to lay his arms on his desk, proceeding to place his head upon them but only for a moment.   

"How are those designs coming?" a voice behind him inquired. Looking up, Thranduil's eyes met those of a young woman sporting long red hair and a crisp green dress standing in the doorway of his office..    

"Tauriel," he said, smiling up at her as she closed the door behind her and walked forward, the steady clicking of her pumps on the marble floor ringing throughout the room. "They're coming along."

The woman, Tauriel, walked over to his large monitor and observed what was being displayed. She nodded in approval.    

"Only to be expected from the head hancho," she said in admiration. "I'm just hoping that I'll one day be able to impress my supervisor enough for him to give me a promotion. Then maybe I can improve my designs to be half as good as yours."    

Thranduil chuckled. "I'm working on it." Tauriel smiled and stood back up from her slight stoop.   

"Anyway, I didn't come here just to chat. I've got an urgent document for you sent in by the board of directors. There's also a call for you on line two." She handed him a thick brown envelope and nodded towards the blinking red light on his telephone.    

"I'll leave you to it," she said with a wink as she backed out the door. It shut behind her with a tiny click. Immediately, Thranduil lifted the receiver of his phone, and took a deep breath.   

"Thranduil Greenwood speaking."   

The voice on the other end was gruff, but kindly. The merry sound of a well-mannered old fellow.   

"Ah, Thranduil. Just the man I wanted to speak to."    

Thranduil smiled fondly. "Hello Gandalf."    

"How are you? Is your son doing well?"   

"I'm a little tired ㅡthese gowns are really somethingㅡ but I'll manage. Legolas is...fine." Thranduil wasn't sure what drove him to lie to his boss, but he lied anyway. On the other end, Gandalf chuckled.    

"That's wonderful to hear; I hope you aren't overworking yourself."

"We've had bigger projects before, I'm fine."    

Gandalf paused, clearing his throat awkwardly.    

"Uh, yes...about that..."    

Thranduil could sense something coming, and he prayed that it wouldn't be another order.   

"We've got another order," Gandalf said, confirming his fears. Thranduil tried to stifle his groan, unsuccessfully.   

"I know, I know. But I couldn't turn this one down," Gandalf said apologetically. "The client is very persistent, and very influential. They insisted that you were the designer."  
   

"Who is the client?" Thranduil asked, genuinely curious. "Not the prime minister's daughter, I hope. The last time we fulfilled an order for her...she asked us to remake the entire thing."    

"Erm...no, it's not Miss Undomiel," Gandalf said. Was that worry in his voice? "It's her Majesty, Galadriel."

Thranduil just about dropped the receiver.   

"What? The QUEEN?!"    

He could almost hear Gandalf wince on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry Thranduil, but I can't exactly refuse an order from the ruler of our country."    

Thranduil passed an exhausted hand over his face, dragging his digits ; his cheeks in hopelessness. "I know, I'm just so caught up in these ball gowns for the pageant ㅡDis has some incredible demands. I know what I said before, but I really don't know if I can take this job!"    

Gandalf sighed "She won't have it made by anyone else. And she's already arranged for a conference in Imladris. I only got the phone call an hour ago."    

"When is this conference?"    

"In a week, but she wants to oversee all production, so she's organized for you to stay in Rivendell palace. Her secretary is waiting for your ‘okay’."    

Thranduil glanced at the brown folder Tauriel had brought him. With this new assignment, all of his other work would have to be put on hold, or given to someone else.   

"Oversee, production? But that means weeks!" he protested. "Gandalf, my son's birthday is in ten days. I can't miss another one for work. I already promised him that I'd be home."    

"I'm sorry Thranduil, but Galadriel is insistent."   

Thranduil dropped his forehead onto the edge of his desk, keeping the receiver pressed up against his ear.    

"Alright," he groaned finally. He heard Gandalf breathe out a sigh of relief.   

"Thank you. I promise your dedication to the company, and all of your work will not go unnoticed," Gandalf said, attempting at reassurance. Thranduil sighed.    

"I've got to go Gandalf. I have a few calls to make..."  
  


* * *

"A month?!"

"At most. Hopefully no longer than three weeks."

Legolas put down his half-eaten sandwich, staring at it as if he'd just realized that it had been stolen from a homeless person.

"What's the job?" he asked, without looking up.

"A series of gowns for the queen's gala birthday."

Legolas nodded, barely. "I see." His voice was void of emotion, but it was the lack of feeling that said tremendous things. Thranduil eyed him worriedly; this wasn't exactly what he had predicted. He'd actually thought that Legolas would be angry.

"You're...you're not mad?" Thranduil asked tentatively, remembering their encounter earlier. Legolas shook his head; then, without speaking, he stood very quickly. Picking up his plate, he tipped the remainder of his sandwich into the trash and dumped his plate into the sink, keeping his eyes away from his father.

"It's your job," he said, his voice even and unfeeling. "I understand." He swiftly put away the bread and condiments, before swiping up his satchel and walking briskly to the stairwell. He paused at the bottom step.

"Goodnight, dad."

With that, he walked up the stairs with measured, hard-falling steps. Thranduil expected the door to slam, but he barely even heard the soft click.

The single father looked down at his hands, not having moved from his seat. He had braced himself for yelling, and had accepted that it was going to hurt, but this was the opposite. For a moment, he thought that he'd finally gotten his cheerful, loving son back; that the depressed, lonely Legolas was gone, but he had been wrong. Wrong to even hope for it. Tears stung the corners of his eyes and he placed his head in his hands, pressing against his eyelids with his palms.

He actually wished that Legolas had shouted at him; at least then he would understand his emotions. But the cold, empty nothingness in his eyes, where joy had been only moments before, hurt more than shouting ever could. He let out a shuddering sigh, hunching over as a solitary thought pulsed through his tired mind.

_You are an awful father. An awful, awful father._  
  


* * *

 

  
Above him, Legolas fell onto his bed face first, landing with a small thump onto the mess of wrinkled blankets that still remained from the night before. He closed his eyes and let out a pained sigh, half muffling it with a pillow. The dulled scent of iron filled his nostrils when he inhaled, spreading across his tongue in an unpleasant way. He sat up slowly and inspected the pillow for the source of the smell.

A smattering of red decorated the white cotton pillowcase, rather like fallen petals from a dying rose; a mockingly pretty reminder of his ever-present pain. He glared at the pillowcase, his fingers curling into the fabric until his knuckles turned almost as white as the item itself. The familiar angry ache rose up from his stomach, bubbling and hissing. It made him want to shred the pillowcase, to throw his desk chair at the wall, to punch something until his hands bled. In fact, he was about to throw his pillow across the room but was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone, causing him to jump slightly in surprise.

Releasing the crumpled cloth from his hands, he crawled across his bed on his hands and knees, stretching abnormally to reach his phone where he'd chucked it upon entering the room. Dragging it towards himself with his index finger, he managed to get a glance at the screen. A text.

Pulling the device properly into his hand, he held it up above his face just as his phone buzzed again. The brief snippet of the message popped up at the top of his screen and caused his eyes to light up happily.  
  
_'*You have a message from: Aragorn*'_ __  
_'Hi, it's Aragorn. I just...'_ __  
  
Legolas' thumb darted across the glass face of his phone, unlocking it eagerly. The phone had barely registered itself when Legolas opened his messages, selecting Aragorn's contact in seconds. He dragged himself up into a sitting position, clutching his phone and hidden from the world by a curtain of hair as he read.  
  
_'Hi, it's Aragorn. I just wanted to tell you how much fun I had today. You're really something. I hope I didn't bore you.'_ __  
__  
_‘I’d really like to hang out again, if you’re up to it.’_ __  
  
Legolas bit his bottom lip, grinning helplessly as he curled his toes inward with excitement. His heart fluttered and he felt a thrilling, nervous eagerness blossom inside his chest, pushing the anger away like it was nothing. He hastily typed out a reply and was about to hit send until he recalled something from a movie he'd seen once upon a time.

"Never respond immediately," he said aloud without even realizing it. He took his thumb away from the 'Send' button and re-read his message over and over again, fretting. Was it good enough? Did it seem too bubbly? Did he spell everything correctly? If his life really were a movie, he’d foreword the text to his friends before sending it, making sure they all approved of his response. But his life wasn’t a movie and he didn’t have any friends, not really.

So he’d just have to go with it and hope for the best. With a shaking hand, he closed his eyes and hit send, praying to no one in particular that he’d chosen his words wisely.  
  
_‘Hi! I had a lot of fun too, more fun than I’ve had in a long while. You didn’t bore me in the slightest! I don’t think I can even remember the last time I had such cool conversations, you’re a very interesting person.’_ __  
__  
_‘I’d love to hang out again.’_ __  
  
Legolas stared at his text, instantly regretting everything he’d written. He let out a groan, wishing desperately that he could rewrite it a hundred more times. A flurry of thoughts and possible outcomes began bombarding his conscience:

_That was a stupid thing to write, he’s never going to speak to you again._

_You responded to quickly, now he’s going to think you’re creepy._

_He’s probably telling all his friends how dumb you are, just look at what you wrote._

_It’s taking pretty long for him to reply, he probably won't._

_Ha ha ha, you suck. Nice going, loser._     

However, Legolas didn’t have to wait much longer before his phone buzzed again in his palm. He looked down at it quickly, his heart racing.  
  
_‘Great!’_ __  
__  
_‘What would you like to do? I was thinking we could maybe go down to the museum, or maybe the farmer’s market?’_  
__  
_‘Unless you’ve got something in mind.’_  
  
Legolas tried ㅡunsuccessfullyㅡ to contain a tiny squeak of excitement that escaped his throat. He gripped his phone tightly and fervently began typing a response.  
__  
Legolas: _‘The museum sounds lovely.’_ __  
__  
_‘When?’_ __  
  
Aragorn: _‘Well, I know you’ve got a lot of school work to do, so whenever you’re free.’_ __  
__  
Legolas: _‘I work every other day at Waterstones, so maybe on Friday?’_ __  
__  
Aragorn: _‘Sounds good to me, what time?’_ __  
__  
Legolas: _‘Want to say, around 3?’_ __  
__  
Aragorn: _‘Sure, should I meet you there?’_ __  
  
Legolas found himself smiling unconsciously as he and Aragorn texted back and forth, making plans and exchanging general light chatter. His back pressed up against the wall as he propped his feet up on a stack of pillows, finding the most comfortable position to sit in. He pushed his hair behind his ear and typed in yet another response, biting at the inside of his lip.

What he’d said before was very true, it had been ages since he’d had this much fun talking to someone. All of his high school friends had gone to the local school, Esgaroth College, in the pilot city he used to live in. It was the college he'd been planning to go to until his father uprooted them unexpectedly and they moved to Lothlorien, the capital, at the end of his twelfth year. Those he’d left behind promised to text and call, but after a few months they’d all dropped off and left him more or less alone. He’d tried to make friends in his freshman year, but he’d never been able to keep them. The only person he’d really managed to make a relatively stable friendship with was a girl in his creative writing class, Arwen.

Initially, their friendship started out as more of a ‘I-talk-to-you-at-formal-gatherings’ kind of arrangement, what with her being the prime minister’s daughter. Legolas’ father had designed and created prom dresses for her and her best friend and Legolas had met her at one of Thranduil’s business parties. They’d chatted lightly, but it was nothing more than a polite acquaintance until she appeared next to him in creative writing class. Before long, she started dragging him along to parties and bars with her friends, showing up at his house, demanding movie marathons and forcing him to accompany her on bizarre shopping trips (usually involving lingerie, shady restaurants and sex shops). Before he’d really understood what was happening, they were an odd sort of pair and she was trying to set him up with every girl she knew because she decided that he needed to get laid (until she found out he was gay, and then started giving all her gay friends his number).

Arwen was a specific sort of person; the sort of person that is so wildly unpredictable that, most of the time, you're not quite sure who they are. Everything she did was contrary to everything else, nothing about her lined up or coincided with anything. If you tried to figure her out, it was as if you were suddenly looking at her through clouded glass and she would never stay put long enough for you to get a grasp on her.     

Incidentally, Legolas blissful text session was interrupted by the doorbell ringing out through the house. He waited for his father to answer the door, his thumb pausing over the keyboard, but the telltale sound of the door opening never reached his ears. Erasing what he'd just written, he penned a quick _'brb, guests'_ and walked across the room to peer out the open window. However, just as his face approached the window, a small cylindrical object flung itself out of nowhere through the frame, slamming into the floor with a surprisingly loud thunk. Had Legolas been two inches closer to the middle of the room, the object (which he now identified as a tube of lipstick) would have hit him square in the forehead. He bent down to pick up the lipstick and ran back to the window, leaning out to look down at the street beneath him. Just below his window, Arwen stood with her hands on her leather-clad hips, an eyebrow raised in mild (potentially mock) annoyance.  

"What was that?" Legolas demanded. “I could have died!”  

"Well, you didn’t,” came her response. “Are you going to open the door?" she demanded, gesturing to the space in front of her.   

"If you tell me why you launched a lipstick torpedo into my room."   

"The door is locked!"   

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is! Look!" Arwen stepped forward and reached out her hand to grasp the door handle. She jerked her hand back and forth a few times, the jangling sound of the lock faintly reaching Legolas' ears. She dropped her hand and looked back up at him expectantly, her dark hair sliding off her shoulder.

"You have a phone for a reason."

"Just open the door, you twat."

Legolas shook his head back and forth a few times, chuckling under his breath as he crossed his room to the door and made his way out into the hall. As he went down the stairs, he did a quick sweep of the main floor with his eyes and concluded that his father had probably gone out, due to the emptiness of the house and the pair of shoes that was missing from beside the door. He hopped off the last step and onto the floor, walking down the short hallway to the front door, opening it calmly. Arwen stood in the doorway, her hand still on her hip, and a slightly impatient expression on her face.

“Took you long enough,” she said, dumping a bag into his arms. Legolas staggered slightly under the unexpected weight and eyed the bag with interest.

“What’s this?” he inquired, stepping out of the way to allow Arwen to enter the house.

“A bunch of your stuff I found in my apartment,” she replied nonchalantly, leaning against the wall whilst she kicked off her red ballerina flats. They tumbled after one another, landing in a small pile on top of a pair of Legolas’ own sneakers.

“I’ll have my lipstick back now,” she said, holding out one hand as she closed the door with the other.

“Hold on,” Legolas said, shifting the bag in his arms so that he could pass the small cosmetic tube between their hands. Once the small black cylinder was safely tucked away in Arwen’s purse, Legolas turned to head down the hall and back towards the stairs, balancing the bag in his hands. Arwen followed close behind as they trekked up the stairs and into Legolas’ room. Arwen stopped in the doorway as Legolas dumped the bag onto his bed, simultaneously causing a vast majority of the contents to spill out. Legolas didn’t pay it much mind, seeing as he was about to tip the rest of it out onto the bed anyway. He plopped himself down on the mattress, settling himself in front of the bag, but reached for his phone first. Knowing how visits from Arwen usually progressed, Legolas intended to let Aragorn know that he wasn’t going to be able to talk for a while. He hastily typed a quick message reading:

_‘Sorry, but I have to go. My friend just arrived. I’ll talk to you later.’_

Aragorn replied almost immediately with a small text assuring Legolas that they would most certainly talk later, bringing a slight smile to Legolas’ face. Arwen noticed the tiny change in Legolas’ features and her mind immediately began to whizz.

“Who’re you texting?” she inquired, walking towards the bed and chucking her purse onto the floor.

“Just someone from work,” Legolas replied, shutting off his phone and putting it down beside him. Arwen raised a single eyebrow.

“Do you think I’m going to buy that?” she laughed. “You were texting somebody _special_.” Her emphasis on the last word was accompanied by a suggestive wiggling of her shoulders and a playful smirk.

“They’re just a person,” Legolas insisted, becoming slightly flustered, though he tried to hide it from Arwen by turning his face to the bag of things. Unfortunately for him, she was too quick.

“So they are special!” she exclaimed. Legolas looked affronted and returned his gaze to meet Arwen’s.

“I never said that.”

“But you didn’t deny it. Technically the same thing.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Come on, that’s totally how it works,” Arwen said, falling backwards onto the bed, her head inches away from Legolas’ hip. He was about to retort with a logical something or other, but Arwen cut him off before he could get there.

“So who is it? Do I know him?” she demanded, tilting her head back to get a better angle of Legolas’ face.

“ ‘Wen, seriously,” Legolas said impatiently, looking down at her face.

“Leggy, seriously,” she repeated mockingly. “Come on! Tell me!”

“No.”

Arwen sat up quickly, turning awkwardly to look at him over her shoulder. “You can’t leave me hanging, Leg,” she whined, intentionally using the nickname she knew he hated. At the darkening of Legolas’ face upon hearing the name, Arwen’s face lit up and she moved herself into a proper sitting position.

“Oh my god, was he a one night stand?” she exclaimed. “Are you texting back?!” Legolas immediately looked very shocked, an expression that changed quickly to bizarrely amused annoyance.

“What, no,” he said, wrinkling up his nose. Arwen’s face fell into a slight pout, but she wasn’t finished poking fun just yet.

“If he isn’t a one night stand, is he that hot Art History professor?” she asked, her voice dropping to a playfully loud whisper. “You know, the one you said you wanted to shag. Professor Oakenshield?” Legolas’ recoiled in shock, his face mildly disgusted.

“Arwen!” he exclaimed, smacking her arm with a book he pulled from the bag. She giggled and tried to defend herself. “He’s married!”

“So? You could be his dirty mistress,” she replied. Legolas hit her with the book again.

“I am nobody’s dirty mistress!” he protested desperately. “And I never said I wanted to shag him!”

“I do recall you saying something along the lines of ‘isn’t Oakenshield hot, or what?’,” Arwen teased. Legolas’ face was now decently red and he was at a loss for words, as Arwen’s accusation was not something he could deny.

“I’d been drinking,” he protested. “I blame it on your friend Lindir and his goddamn tequila.” Arwen snorted as a smirk dusted her face; Lindir did have a tequila problem.

“Don’t change the subject. Seriously, just tell me who it is,” she said, leaning back on her elbows. Legolas gave her an almost scathing look before rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, reaching for his phone. Arwen grinned excitedly, sitting up again and resisting the urge to clap her hands together.

“His name is Aragorn. I met him on the train and he took me to lunch,” Legolas explained, perhaps speaking a little too quickly. Arwen’s grin faltered just a tiny bit, but from confusion more than anything else.

“Did you say Aragorn?” she pressed, leaning in slightly, her grin fading quickly.

“Yeah, do you know him?” Legolas said, nodding. Arwen’s eyebrows raised slightly and her grin returned to her face, this time a little cheekier than before.

“I’d say I know him,” she said.

“He is my brother after all.”

 


	4. Ultimatum

“Why didn’t you tell me you had another brother?!”

“You never asked.”

Legolas stared at Arwen incredulously, his eyes wide and his mind swimming with uncertainty. Arwen simply eyed him with a bemused look, reclining on her elbow as she twirled a pen that she'd picked up in between her fingers.

"I've asked about your brothers before!" Legolas protested. "But you've only ever told me about Elladan and Elrohir. Didn't you ever consider that you were forgetting one?"

Arwen shrugged, watching as the pen danced with her fingers with a sort of nonchalant expression on her face, despite Legolas' flustered state.

"He's not my biological brother," she supplied. "He's a foster kid."

"Still!" Legolas exclaimed. "I'd like to have known if you had another person living in your house."

"Why?" Arwen inquired. "It's not like he really affected your life until now."

Legolas allowed his face to fall into a mildly frustrated expression, as he was forced to agree with Arwen's observation. He crossed his arms and tried to catch Arwen's eye, but her attention was drawn to the pen, which she proceeded to flick across the room. It spun majestically through the air and hit a movie poster on the opposite wall with a thunk. Legolas dropped the topic of Aragorn for a few seconds as he stood in a panic, darting across the floor to where the pen had flown.

" 'Wen!" he exclaimed, inspecting the poster with his fingers to see if the pen had left a mark. "Was the cap off?"

"No," Arwen replied. "It hit the dude right in the forehead though." Legolas' hand immediately flew to where she'd indicated and felt his finger pass over a small indentation in the glossy paper.

"You've made a dent in Han Solo's forehead!" he exclaimed, leaning in to analyze the damage his fingers had uncovered. Behind him, Arwen began to laugh, tilting her head back and letting her hair fall onto the pile of blankets on the bed. Legolas sat back on his haunches, looked at the poster for a moment longer and began to laugh himself, chuckling at the bizarre situation. He stood up again and made his way back to the bed, dropping next to Arwen and poking her in the stomach in the process. She made a noise quite suddenly that was a cross between a squeal and a shriek, her body seizing forward and collapsing around where the jab had been expertly placed.

“Youꟷ” She reached behind herself to grab a pillow with a menacing sneer on her face. “ꟷFucker!” she yelled, slamming the pillow into Legolas' face before he could get out of the way. She began pounding him mercilessly with the pillow, beating him over the head and smashing his face with so much ferocity he could barely see.

“Stꟷ STOP!” he cried, struggling to get anything out other than a laugh. “Stop! I'm sorrꟷ”

“Grovelling won't save you now!” Arwen exclaimed, grabbing another pillow and turning to stand on her knees.

“I shall show NO MERCY!” she bellowed, pounding his head from both sides. Unable to tell what direction Arwen's onslaught was coming from, Legolas had closed his eyes as they proved to be useless anyway. Raising his hands ꟷor at least trying toꟷ he attempted to protect his face from the pounding of many, many feathers. But then, there were no more pillows and everything became suddenly and eerily quiet.

Hesitantly, Legolas opened his eyes and peered about, lowering his hands. In front of him, Arwen was holding one of the pillows in her hands, looking down at it with a solemn expression on her face. Legolas followed her downcast gaze and his own eyes came to rest on the droplets of his blood, dried in an unmistakable burgundy pattern on the white linens. A heavily pregnant silence filled the space between them, filling each with their own dread.  
     
“This wasn't a nosebleed... was it?” Arwen said, making it out as more of a statement than a question. Legolas looked away, feeling vulnerable and found out, the joyful frivolity from moments before dissipating into nothingness that seemed to hang in the air like a ghost.  
     
Then, in a sudden movement, Arwen reached across her lap and grabbed Legolas' hand. Before he could tug himself away, she drew his wrist over to her and shoved the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow, revealing the red incisions.  
     
“Dammit, Legolas,” she growled, her voice filled with a mix of anger and terrible, terrible pain. Her face contorted into a mess of emotions as she looked down at the cuts, but she only forced herself to look at them for a moment, before covering them up swiftly with the sleeve. Legolas tried to pull his hand back, but her fingers refused to let him go. He tried to look into her face, but her head was lowered so that her hair hung in dark curtains on either side, preventing him from seeing what she was doing. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain across his face and his hand was released, allowing it to immediately draw up to his stinging cheek.  
     
“I thought we talked about this!” Arwen cried, her face fierce and pained, tears glistening in the corners of her makeup-rimmed eyes. Legolas tried to look away from her again, but her unwavering pupils held him captive.  
     
“I... I couldn't...” he muttered, finding it nearly impossible to say anything at all. However, maybe it would have been better if he'd said nothing, because his answer only succeeded in making Arwen angrier.  
     
“We talked about this!” she repeated angrily, her voice full of disbelief. She reached forward again and brought his hand down, shaking his wrist in her hand. “This is not okay! You told me you would stop!”  
     
Legolas swallowed heavily, feeling the weight of his betrayal to their agreement hitting him full force. He hadn't considered how his actions would have affected Arwen, though ꟷhad he paused to think about itꟷ he could have predicted her reaction. Finally managing to tear his eyes away from hers, he dropped them to his lap in shame.  
     
Because of his lack of response, Arwen had a moment to think. In that span of seconds, she decided that she needed to intervene.  
     
“Where is it?” she demanded. Legolas looked up in surprise.  
     
“What?”  
     
“Where is it?” she repeated. “What did you use to do this?”  
     
Legolas suddenly recoiled internally, sensing his mind putting up its walls to hide him from what he desperately needed. He wanted to tell Arwen where the knife was, but the dark power within him crushed him without a second thought, convincing him to lie.  
     
“I... I don't know,” he said, tugging at her grip again. But she had closed her fingers more tightly around him this time, bringing his hand closer to her.  
     
“Don't play stupid with me,” she said. “These cuts are fresh; tell me where it is.” When Legolas didn't answer, she dropped his hand and stood up from the bed. Legolas sensed what she was about to do and flew into a panic.  
     
“No, Arwen!” he exclaimed, twisting around to watch her as she began to dig through the things beside his bed. “Stop!”  
     
“No! I will not stop!” she cried, rifling through discarded sheets and other various things. Before long, she uncovered the serrated knife where it had fallen from the bed in the night. Clutching it in her hand, she stood from her crouching position and walked towards the trash can near the door. Dropping the knife with a clang, she then bent down to tie up the bag which she proceeded to carry over to the window.  
     
“What are you doing?” Legolas demanded, scrambling up from his bed. Arwen held the bag out the window and looked back over her shoulder.  
     
“If you can't keep yourself from it, then I have to keep it from you,” she explained, releasing her hand and letting the small plastic bag fall down onto the street. Legolas ran across his room to look out the window, but Arwen stopped him. He looked at her with frightened eyes, feeling her fierce grip on his arm, but before he could do anything about it, she engulfed him in a tight hug.  
     
Her nearly equal stature wrapped itself around him, pulling him in with a warm but firm embrace. The hand that had slapped him found the back of his head where it began to stroke his hair comfortingly as she placed his head on her shoulder.  
     
“I'm sorry I hit you,” she murmured. “And I'm sorry that you're hurting.” Legolas closed his eyes and hugged her back, feeling relieved that he had finally found some comfort.  
     
“I know,” he said, holding her tightly.

After a few moments, she pulled away and sniffled.  
     
"You don't need to hide, y'know," she said sadly, her hands stroking his lithe arms. "I'm here, I'm always here."  
     
"I know, Arwen," he replied softly, his voice low and small. He gave her a little kiss on the forehead and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly as she looked down between them.  
     
"You can't do this anymore," she said after a moment or two and Legolas felt himself tense; he knew what was coming next. Pulling away from his arms, Arwen brought her face back up to look at him.  
     
"Why won't you see someone about this?" she demanded, her ferocity returning. "There are people who can help you, it's their job!"  
     
"I know, butꟷ"  
     
"No, you need to see a therapist or something," she insisted. "This has been going on for too long now, what if you really hurt yourself?" She reached forward and pulled his hand towards her, pushing the sleeve back.  
     
"These aren't shallow cuts, Legolas," she said after a solemn inspection of the incisions. "You could have hit an artery and bled out. You need to stop this." Still clutching his wrist, she looked up fiercely.  
     
"There are better ways to deal with this!" she cried. "I want to help you, but goddammit you won't let me!"  
     
The sound of the front door falling shut below them brought silence to Arwen's words. She looked into Legolas' eyes and, in a quiet voice, Legolas said:  
     
"My dad's home."  
     
Arwen let go of his wrist and placed her arms across her chest, eyeing him intently. After a moment or so, an idea sparked in her mind.  
     
"Come on," she said, walking towards the door. Legolas followed her quizzically with his eyes.  
     
"Where are we going?" he inquired, stepping forward to join her as she reached for the door handle.  
     
"To show your father," she told him, pushing the door open. Upon hearing those words, Legolas pulled away both internally and externally, taking a step back into his room.  
     
"No," he gasped. "I can't do that! He'd freak out!"  
     
"Exactly," Arwen said, stretching to grasp his wrist again, pulling him to the doorway again. "He'll flip his shit and then immediately try to find you a therapist, which is what you need."  
     
"No," Legolas resisted, tugging at the grip she had on him, trying to get away from the door. "He can't know." Still holding Legolas fast, Arwen sighed in exasperation.  
     
"Well, if you don't want him to know, then how are you going to get help? You and I both know you're not going to find it yourself," she said. Legolas bit at the side of his lip, struggling with the idea. It was a painful subject for him and he hated talking about himself to people, but Arwen knew this. She also knew that, without support, he'd collapse in on himself and that he was terrible at finding resources for himself.  
     
After a few moments of silence, Arwen sighed and ꟷreluctantlyꟷ dropped Legolas' hand. His instinct was to rush at the door and force it closed, but Arwen beat him to it. She leaned on the door, closing it with a click as she looked up at him solemnly.  
     
"Alright, I have an ultimatum," she proposed. One of Legolas' eyebrows cocked up slightly, but he didn't say anything. At the lack of resistance, Arwen continued.  
     
"You have the next two weeks to find yourself a therapist," she said. "Fail to do so of your own accord and I will personally tell your father everything."  
     
"...Everything?" Legolas inquired cautiously. Arwen's eyes locked onto his and hardened.  
     
"Everything," she repeated, somewhat menacingly. "With particular emphasis on what really happened during the hospital incident last year."  
     
The color drained from Legolas' face at the mention of his past. What with the flurry of his current life, he'd nearly forgotten that he'd hospitalized himself the previous year from cutting too deep. He'd lied to his father, saying that he'd slipped with a knife whilst cooking, but Arwen knew the whole story; and her memory was nearly photographic. Legolas knew that knowledge of his depression would send his father spiraling into it himself. He'd kept it from his father's eyes because of how deeply he cared for him, and because he knew Thranduil would blame himself some way or another. Legolas had seen it before; something had happened to him as a child, whether it be that he'd been bullied or hurt, and Thranduil would blame himself endlessly for being the cause. Legolas couldn't bear to see what the truth would do to his father. Frustratingly, Arwen knew all of this.

“Well?” she began. “What’s it going to be?” Legolas took a shallow breath and looked into her eyes, trying to find some way to respond.

“I...I guess I’ll look for a therapist,” he said quietly. A wash of relief swept across Arwen’s face and she stepped away from the door to walk over to him.

“Thank you,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “This is for the best. You know that, right?” Legolas nodded, looking down at the floor and biting at the inside of his lip. Arwen smiled gently and pulled him into another hug.

“How about we go for Korean food?” she suggested, her head resting on his shoulder. “Then maybe we could get some bubble tea? That always cheers you up.” Though Arwen couldn’t see it, Legolas let a grateful smile grace his lips. She really was a gem.

“Only if you promise to let me choose my own dinner this time,” he said, pulling away and his voice a little weak but trying to be cheerful. “I don’t trust you when there’s spice involved.” Arwen grinned.

“It’s a deal.”

* * *

“Mr. Greenwood, I’m taking Legolas out!” Arwen called from the stairwell. Legolas smacked Arwen’s shoulder in exasperation from behind as he followed her down the wooden steps. He’d been telling her for months to lay off the dramatic announcements.

“Oh, hello, Arwen!” Thranduil called from afar, his voice muffled by the walls between them. As they reached the bottom step, he had emerged from the living room wearing his reading glasses and with a sketchbook tucked under his arm.

“How are you?” he asked politely, smiling at Arwen.

“Eh, doing pretty good,” she said, shrugging. “Talia still raves on and on about her dress to anyone who’ll listen.” Thranduil’s smile grew and he bowed his head a little.

“I’m glad to hear that she likes it, I really did enjoy designing that one,” he said, pushing his glasses to the top of his head.

“Well, anyway, Legolas and I are going out,” she told him. “I hope that’s alright.” Thranduil’s gaze flickered towards his son and his smile faltered a little, but he was quick enough to hide it.

“Yes, that’s fine,” he replied. “Just try not to do too many drugs.” Arwen grinned at his joke and chuckled lightly as Legolas tugged her towards where their shoes were.

“Don’t worry,” she teased, slipping on her flats. “I’ll keep him safe.” She glanced at Legolas, but he wasn’t continuing the joke and it was clear by his solemn expression.

“ ‘Wen, can we go?” he pressed, slipping into his army jacket and reaching for his scarf. Arwen sighed dramatically.

“I suppose,” she said before turning back to his father. “I’ll say goodnight then, Mr. Greenwood.”

“Arwen, dear, I’ve told you time and again to just call me Thranduil,” he said in response. Arwen smirked playfully and slung her purse onto her shoulder as Legolas opened the door, stepping out onto the porch to wait.

“Righto, Mr. Greenwood. Au revoir,” she teased, stepping out the door after Legolas.

“Goodbye, Arwen,” Thranduil chuckled. She waved at him as she closed the door, her sweet smile being the last thing he saw before the cold air was shut out by the hardwood door. The moment the door closed, the smile fell right off his face and didn’t return. Legolas had been so utterly cold...it had been hard for him to laugh at all. He turned sullenly and walked the brief distance to the stairs, dropping down onto the second last step and letting out a pained sigh.

Outside, Arwen’s smile had also faded almost immediately. She jogged slightly to catch up with Legolas.

“Leggy, that was so rude!” she exclaimed, tugging at his arm. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.” She caught a glimpse of Legolas’ face and was astonished to see that it was full of pain instead of anger.

“I know,” he said. “But I can’t seem to help it. Every time he talks to me, it’s like a monster inside of my head takes over my body. I’m always so horrible to him and I hate it.” Arwen looked at him with a glimmer of pity on her face and she placed a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. She was about to open her mouth to say something when a tall man bumped into them accidentally.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, putting out a hand in defense. He took a moment to register the two of them and smiled politely upon recognizing Legolas.

“Hello Legolas. Is your father in?” he inquired, his voice sporting a slight accent as it rolled off his tongue. Legolas nodded.

“Yeah, he just got home so the door’s unlocked,” he supplied. The man turned to continue down the street, nodding his head once at Legolas.

“Thanks, enjoy your evening,” he said, putting his hands into his pockets and smiling at Arwen before making off towards the house they’d just exited. Arwen followed his retreating back curiously.

“Who was that?” she inquired watching as he was admitted into the house. Legolas turned his back on the house and waited for Arwen to do the same.

"That's just Bard," he replied, beginning to walk as she joined him in stride. "He's my dad's friend; they both like going to the same café to work. It's where they met."

"That's sort of cute," Arwen mused, putting her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She glanced back over her shoulder once more to look at the house, looking so pale, vacant and sad on the outside; a mirror of the lives lived within it.

"You sure they don't have a thing?" she inquired, looking away from the house. Legolas snorted at her suggestion, clearly stating how absurd he thought it was.

"No way," he said. "My dad is straighter than a board."

* * *

"Thranduil, my darling! What's the matter?"

Bard closed the door quickly behind himself and made a beeline for the bottom of the stairs where Thranduil sat, hunched over. Thranduil looked up at Bard through his long hair, his eyes glowing with a terrible sadness that pierced right through Bard's heart. He quickly lowered himself onto the stair next to his lover and placed his hands on either side of Thranduil's face, looking imploringly into his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softer than before. Thranduil bit at his bottom lip and tried to fight back the tears he'd been holding in for days, but he was unsuccessful.

"It's Legolas," he choked, his voice pulled taught and raw by grief. "He hates me."

Bard's face became gentle with pity and care as he slid one of his hands down to rest on Thranduil's shoulder. "I'm sure he doesn'tꟷ"

"He does!" Thranduil cried out, cutting him off. "He won't look at me; he never laughs anymore; he's never in the house, and when he is, he locks himself in his room!" The tall man's shoulders began to quiver as tears began to tumble from his eyes. He placed his head in his hands and when he spoke, his voice was like an ache in the air.

"All I want to do is hug him and tell him that I love him," he said, the words sounding like a downtrodden plea as his tears came in waterfalls now that the dam was broken.

"Oh, my love," Bard murmured, engulfing the sobbing man in his arms. He placed Thranduil's head on his chest and held him protectively, rocking back and forth in the gentlest way in an attempt to soothe him. "Just cry it all out, there's nothing to worry about now. I'm here, you're alright." Bard kissed the crown of Thranduil's head as the latter sobbed into his chest, his shoulders closing in on him as he curled into Bard's arms.

 

 

 

 


End file.
